


Use Your Delusion

by jedishampoo



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Canon intersex goddess, F/M, Humor, M/M, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 11:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedishampoo/pseuds/jedishampoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zakuro/Kanzeon Bosatsu.  Zakuro’s in control here.  No, really, he is.  Why do you look so skeptical?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Use Your Delusion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whymzycal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whymzycal/gifts).



**Pardon me while I archive some of my past fics on my AO3 account. :)  
**

**Warnings:** Language, a little nibbling  
 **Author's notes:** Written for the awesome whymzycal, for the [Yuletide_smut com exchange 2011 on dreamwidth](http://yuletide-smut.dreamwidth.org/). This was an OMG fun prompt and pairing to write. Thanks and kisses to my betas sharpeslass and despina_moon! Title ~~stolen from~~ inspired by the title of one of caeseria's Naruto fics, "Use Your Illusion." ;)  
  
  
 **Use Your Delusion**  
  
  
The Mighty Zakuro was not lying in the road, sucking dirt. People would think that, but people were stupid.  
  
“I said, I am communing with the Earth, considering whether or not I must reevaluate my approach to a certain … problem,” he told the gold-toenailed and gold-sandaled foot tapping the ground mere inches from his face. It was an attractive foot. He couldn’t see much more because there was dirt in his eyes.  
  
“Izzat so?” the voice said. It could have been a male or female voice. While the toenail paint indicated a female, Zakuro had learned not to jump to conclusions where certain things were concerned.   
  
He dug his fingers into the dirt and tried to push himself up and out of his Earth-communion pose. His right arm shrieked in painful protest. Sanzo’s blasted gun had refused to melt again--  
  
“Ouc-- I mean, hmph.”  
  
“Huh. A gunshot wound,” the voice said. The voice sounded like it was laughing. “Well, I was going to ask if you’d seen a scrawny, droopy-eyed monk and his colorful friends, but it looks like I just missed ‘em. Jiroushin, the pond is on the fritz again.”  
  
“Yes, Holiness,” answered a cowed-sounding male voice.  
  
“Is Sanzo your foe as well?” Zakuro inquired.  
  
“Oh, no, angel. I’m on his side.”  
  
“Really, O Heavenly One?” The male voice managed to sound both cowed and surprised.   
  
Zakuro considered this new information. He pushed himself up, succeeding by using only his uninjured left arm. He still couldn’t see, however; all he knew was that the gold-sandaled foot was attached to a gold-wrapped blur that must have been a leg, but everything above that was filmy white. A bindingly bright light shone from somewhere behind the person. Zakuro’s eyes watered as he tried to focus. “I’m not crying!”   
  
“My! What a cutie you are in person. Pond-vision doesn’t do you justice.”  
  
“The friend of my enemy is my enemy,” Zakuro said. Was the person looking into his face? Perhaps he could weave an illusion, give himself time to clear the dirt so he could at least see to fight. “I, Zakuro, vow to kill Sanzo and gain the sutra. Look into my eyes and see that this is so!”  
  
“No time, honey. Gotta run, important things to do, yadda yadda. Don’t cry when I’m gone. Come, Jiroushin.”   
  
“Yes, Holiness!”  
  
“I’m not crying, blast you. Come back here!” Zakuro commanded, then reconsidered his words in light of his current impaired state. He tried to watch the person go but it was too bright to watch, until it wasn’t. Then there was only a green and brown blur -- presumably the cursed forest -- where the white had been.  
  
“Curses,” he cursed.  
  
*********  
  
The Mighty Zakuro was a city youkai by birth and a castle-dwelling one by nature, but by applying his considerable wits -- and with some judicious mesmerization of the occasional villager -- he’d become quite adept at surviving in the wild.  
  
At the very least, he wasn’t cold or starving. True, he was wedged in the branches of a tree high above a dirt path, but that was by choice. He’d deduced that Priest Sanzo and his friends would have to come this way if they wished to reach the mountain pass -- if the map he’d stolen from a local woodsman was correct, anyway. And when they passed he’d shock them by dropping from the sky like youkai retribution.   
  
“They’ll get theirs. Hah hah hoo hah!” he said to his tree.  
  
All in all he was not displeased with his position, if a little bored. The pine-scented air smelled nice, though the constant green was getting a little monotonous. Really, though, he’d hardly had to work at all. The humans here were miserable sheep, frozen in the gaze of a wolf -- they’d walked into his World of Illusion like they’d wanted to be there in the first place. _What in Gyumaoh’s name were Sanzo and his buddies doing, anyway? Washing each others’ dicks?_  
  
He thought about that for a bit. His own dick hadn’t been properly scrubbed for hours and hours. He had his hand down the front of his leather pants and had just worked up a nice, shiny stiffie when he heard a voice below him. The voice sounded familiar …  
  
“What the hell are they doing? Braiding each others’ hair? Jiroushin swore he’d had the pond fixed. Huh? Hmm,” the voice muttered.  
  
Then Zakuro remembered the voice -- it was the voice of the jumped-up person he’d encountered a couple of weeks ago, the one who’d stood over him in the dirt and mocked him for crying when he hadn’t been crying.   
  
The person had been walking the trail but had stopped directly below where Zakuro lurked in the tree. The person was alone. Zakuro could see the top of a head of long, dark, wavy and silky hair. He could see the massive boobs protruding from the front of her filmy-white-clad chest -- Zakuro felt on relatively firm ground in identifying the person as a _her_ , given the hooters.  
  
She was an ally of the Sanzo party, he remembered. And the enemy of his friend was his-- no. The friend of his friend was his-- wait. He was wasting time.  
  
“Hah hah!” he cried, and jumped.  
  
He’d meant to kick her on the way down, but she dodged without appearing to dodge at all. One second his boot was heading for her face and the next he was heading hard for the dirt next to her. He absorbed the impact by bending his knees to his chest, and after a quick backwards roll he was on his feet. She was watching him, her skinny arms crossed under her chest.  
  
“Boys dropping from the heavens like rain. Did that hurt, angel?”  
  
It was too bad that Zakuro had just been jerking off; otherwise, he’d’ve never been turned on by the way her eyes smirked more than her lips did. Her voice was another matter. Now that he’d seen who it was attached to, it’d become a zillion times more sexy, sorta husky and sultry.   
  
But it would not help her. She was looking right at him, and his victory was thus assured. “I am unharmed,” he cried. “Prepare to enter my terrifying World of Illusion!”  
  
“Your fly is unzipped.”  
  
“Irrelevant! Do you see how the world has changed around you?”  
  
She stared at him for a few moments, still smirking, and Zakuro felt suddenly and uncomfortably unconfident. It hadn’t worked! But she shrugged and quirked an eyebrow, then looked around, mouth forming an “O” of horror.   
  
“Lookit all the awful skulls.”   
  
“Hah hah! Now I have you,” Zakuro crowed.   
  
“It seems you do! Oh, my.”   
  
One of Zakuro’s brain cells was trying to tell him that she didn’t sound horrified at all, merely appreciative. And slightly mocking. It also tried to tell him something about her -- something about the first time he’d met her. He ignored the brain cell in favor of bravado and leering, because those had always worked well for him, especially in battle situations.   
  
“No, I am fearsome! As you shall soon see.”  
  
“You’ve got real potential, darling.”  
  
Zakuro was nothing if not persistent, so he kept leering. It wasn’t difficult; she was sorta pointy and yet voluptuous all over. Very nipple-y. She was wearing some kind of clingy white dress thing that accentuated rather than hid, and lots of bold, golden accessories. It wasn’t the kind of getup he saw on women every day, unless they were evil youkai queens, of course.  
  
His brain cell spoke up again, and this time its chosen words made it all the way to his tongue.   
  
“Who are you, woman? You were with somebody before. He called you--” _Holiness? Heavenly something?_ He couldn’t exactly remember. “You don’t look like a -- a religious person.”  
  
“You can call me Kanzeon,” she said with a leer that almost outleered him. “Nice to meet you. And you are-- ah, sushi. Zakuro!”  
  
“Aha! You have heard of me!” Zakuro’s brain whispered that the name meant something, but he continued to ignore it. Perhaps she could tell him how to get the sutra. He could weasel her secrets out through nefarious and slow and sexy means … “How are you associated with the Sanzo party, Kan-- woman?”  
  
“Oh, let’s say I’m a … benefactor of Priest Sanzo’s.”  
  
“Hmph. And have you heard what I can do? To you?”  
  
“Show me what you’ve got, sweetie,” she said. She seemed to be enjoying this.   
  
_But not for long!_ “Look! The dead buried below you are coming back to life. Their flesh is rotting but their grip is strong, and they are reaching out from the grave to drag you down to hell! Hah hah hee!”  
  
He’d been working on that particular illusion and it showed; the disembodied hands were the very denizens of a nightmare come to life. They grabbed her ankles and wrists with jagged, grave-clearing nails and pulled her to the ground, holding her fast so she could not dream of escape.   
  
Her back strained against their pull and her hair was twined in the dead fingers and her chin was all sharp angles as she threw back her head in apparent ecstasy, and -- his belly throbbed low in his leather pants.  
  
“Kinky,” she breathed.  
  
“Yes! Yes, it is kinky,” Zakuro agreed, and so did his cock. He adjusted it in his pants and enjoyed the motion far too well. “Now, how shall I kill you, my lovely?”   
  
Maybe he should have the hands tear off all her clothing, first? That wasn’t usually his mode of operation, but his attempts to kill her had taken a blatantly erotic turn, and he was sort of sure it wasn’t just him. He watched her, watching him, her eyes sharp like old, black diamonds in her thin, pale face, and suddenly he knew how to do it. It was there in his brain, an old story, a gory memory of his childhood. It was a good story -- _shut up, brain_ \-- with a satisfyingly murderous ending, and he could draw this illusion out, make it more than fun… How twistedly clever his subconscious was. He wished he could meet it so he could pat it on the back.  
  
“Aha! I have it. No, it will be fine. Really!”  
  
“And you talk to yourself. How adorable.”  
  
“Shut up! You are-- You are … You are alone on a path in a sorcerous forest! Who knows what horrors await you?”  
  
His illusion world shifted to match the story playing out in his head; the hands disappeared, the forest they were in became another forest, thick with slender bamboo that whistled in the night wind. She -- Kanzeon, _what a strange name, familiar somehow_ \-- was dressed in a tight, crimson cheongsam. Her thick hair, wild tendrils and all, was pulled back into a long ponytail wrapped with gold. She held a woven reed basket covered in cloth.  
  
“Oh look. Meat buns,” she said, pulling back the cloth to look in the basket. “And rice wine. Mmm, good vintage.”  
  
“You have a long journey … you are afraid,” Zakuro said, moving up to stand next to her, close enough to whisper in her ear. She was taller than he was, so he illusioned himself upward by a few centimeters.   
  
“You grew,” she said, turning to him with a slow grin. She smelled like incense.   
  
He’d hoped it wasn’t that obvious. Wow, she smelled good. “Only in danger, for that grows every second! You have been cast out, sent from your home--”  
  
“Yes, yes. To take these buns and wine to my dear, old, sick Po-Po. Oh! I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” She raised a long, red fingernail to her chin and her eyes widened in a fear-like expression. Her eyes -- they were innocent and ancient at the same time. He feared to lose focus in them.  
  
“Ahem. But look at the chrysanthemums along the side of the path, my helpless girl. They signal the coming of fall, of death to all nature. You should pick some before they crumble in the long, dark freeze.”  
  
“Yeah, those’ll cheer ‘er right up,” Kanzeon said. She bent over and began to pick the flowers in her mind, _the pretty, pretty flowers,_ , squealing and wiggling her ass as she did it. It wasn’t the way most people reacted to his illusions -- usually there was less laughing and more screaming. It was totally ridiculous and yet totally hot at the same time. It was much more fun than dick-washing.  
  
“Erm. But don’t go too far or tarry too long, else the dragon shall get you and the old lady will die of hunger!”   
  
He had to stop watching and get going. Of course, he was the one in control of the illusion -- it was her brain that was being messed with, after all. But the story needed to be performed correctly to play to its intended conclusion. Hurriedly he made an illuso-door and went in, killing the old broad and climbing into her imaginary bed. He couldn’t bring himself to dress in her clothes, so he just pulled up the covers. And he may have left a bloodstain or two on the walls but hopefully Kanz-- his victim wouldn’t notice. He would seduce-- er, kill her regardless.   
  
“You have arrived at Po-Po’s house, but something feels horribly wrong. Dare you go inside? There is a door, and you must open it!”  
  
The door creaked open.  
  
“You come into the room, and you see your dear, old Po-Po. But is something wrong with her, something that you can’t put your finger on? You are worried. You-- wait. The--” Kanzeon was… the only word for it would have been “glowing.” Her cheongsam was gone, replaced by the white-and gold thing she’d originally been wearing. She’d lost her little-girl act and he realized he’d lost his hold on her; he tried to poke a mental finger into her head, at the clump of brain cells he needed to influence. He was poking at nothing with nothing, like stabbing infinity with zeroes. He gasped out words, anything to keep his world together. “Wh-- what a revealing dress you are wearing, my dear.”  
  
“The better to show you my tits, darling,” Kanzeon said. She dropped the basket on the floor and kneeled on the end of the bed, watching him all the while with her smirking eyes, the ones that spoke a thousand silent words about how screwed he was. “What big eyes you have.”  
  
“The better to see your-- you with, my ch-- dear. Um. Wait!” Maybe he could distract her, could regain control of the illusion. That was, if he’d ever had control. “You see suddenly that I am a powerful dragon masquerading as your trusted relation so that I may kill you! I have slashed at you with my claws--”  
  
“Rawr,” Kanzeon said. “I’ve had more than one dragon in my days.”  
  
Zakuro couldn’t move as she prowled her way up the bed to straddle his blanketed body. He couldn’t speak. Who was she? What was she? Besides terrifyingly exciting, that was. She yanked the blanket down. “What tight leather pants you’re wearing, Po-Po.”   
  
“Um. I like them,” he squeaked.  
  
“So do I.” She grabbed his crotch with her long fingers, squeezed with her long fingernails, and then leaned forward and licked his lips. When she spoke she breathed cinnamon into his lungs. “You can touch me. I’ll allow it.”  
  
“Um,” Zakuro said, unmoving. How could he touch her? She was--- something radiant and unworldly. A goddess, a-- She was getting ticked off. The deep throb in his dick became a few points of acute pain as her fingernails tightened into a claw at his crotch.   
  
“That wasn’t just permission, you know,” she said with a scowl.  
  
So he did as she commanded, lucky prisoner of her illusion as he bunched his fingers into the silky, white cloth at her sides, then slid his hands up her ribs, not grabbing her boobs too quickly, even though he wanted to, because it was uncouth. Her skin was warm but smooth as gold.  
  
He didn’t whimper at all when she shoved her tongue in his mouth, and when his thumbnails brushed gently along the undersides of her breasts--  
  
“Oh, come on,” she bitched. She grabbed his wrist and shook his own hand in his face until he was slapping himself. He was gonna break his own nose if she didn’t stop.   
  
“Hey,” he mumbled.  
  
“What do you have these for?” She’d pinched one of his fingers and scraped it down his cheek, drawing a rivulet of blood he could feel cooling on his skin.  
  
“Ouch!” he said, more loudly.  
  
“Use ‘em, sweetie. Use what’s in here.” She poked his forehead once, twice, three times. “Without it you’re just another pretty face with pointy ears.”  
  
It was true -- about his pretty face, anyway. And she’d just scratched it. She shouldn’t have done that. What was more, he shouldn’t have let her. Was he the Mighty Zakuro, or the Anxious Zakuro?  
  
“You-- you should be afraid,” he said, wrenching his hand away and jerking his hips upward, jamming his crotch into hers. “I have come to kill you.”  
  
“Good. Just don’t be a dragon. They’re boring.”   
  
Zakuro was getting a little tired of being mocked. “I am not a dragon,” he said, digging his fingers into the mass of hair at the top of her head. He grinned at into her surprised-looking face. “I am a wolf. With deadly, sharp claws and murderous intent, and you have walked right into my trap.”  
  
“What big teeth you have,” she said, her eyes shining.  
  
“The better to do this--” He yanked her face down to his and bit her lip.  
  
“Mm,” she said, and tried to suck his brains out through his mouth. At least, that was what it felt like.   
  
It didn’t matter, because his brains had all sped southward anyway. That was why he was no longer afraid to flip her onto her back until he was on top -- hah hah!-- and use his claws to shred the top of her dress. His coat went the way of history and they got a fierce, mutual dry-hump going as one by one, the rest of their clothing became bits of cloth scattered around Po-Po’s bedroom, except for the denim shorts she was wearing under her dress. There was something big and hard stuffed in the front of them.  
  
“What did you do-- bring the wine, little girl?” he leered.  
  
“Open ‘em up and see,” she said.  
  
He did. What he found was not wine.   
  
“Curses,” Zakuro cursed, because he should never have jumped to conclusions, even had her tits been the size of Gyumaoh’s head.   
  
“Surely you know what to do with one of those,” she-- he-- Kanzeon said. Her/his teeth gleamed in the fake light of the fake room.  
  
Zakuro, having been in so many people’s brains, was acutely aware of his own. Inside it synapses were firing, trying to make a connection between all of the strange bits and pieces of information he’d been collecting about Kanzeon. They just didn’t add up, except to something he didn’t want to think about. So he wrapped his hand around Kanzeon’s dick and gave it a short scrub. Kanzeon groaned appreciatively.   
  
“Zakuro goes first,” he announced. “Hah hah hee!”  
  
“Aww. Did I shock you into third person?”  
  
“Shut up,” Zakuro said, and went looking for the parts he was interested in trying out first.  
  
*********  
  
Zakuro communed with the Earth and slowly, steadily, dragged himself back to consciousness. Each new bit of awareness of the world brought new suffering, new pain, in some distant or obscure body-part.  
  
There are plenty of positions and ways in which two people can screw when they’re both one plain, old sex, but when one of them is a hermaphrodite, the number of choices grows exponentially. Zakuro thought he must have tried most of them before he finally lost consciousness and lost the illusion along with it. He had no idea where Kanzeon had gone. At least he, Zakuro, was probably alive, and would live to screw another day. A day that was sure to be far, far in the future.  
  
“Look who it is.”  
  
“You get your ass handed to you again, idiot?”  
  
That last had been the voice of Priest Sanzo. He and his friends had finished washing each others’ dicks at last, just in time to catch Zakuro at an inopportune moment.  
  
Zakuro knew that one should make opportunity out of lemons. Opportunity lemonade. He clawed his fingers into the dirt and pushed himself up. He hoped he was wearing his clothing. He was.  
  
“Nnnngh-- I mean, hah hah, Sanzo party. At last I have you.”  
  
“What the hell happened to you?” That was Sha Gojyo. He was hanging over the side of their vehicle, smoking. He looked … concerned. “You don’t sound like yourself, man.”  
  
Zakuro sighed. “Look into my eyes and you shall regret the day you were born. Nngh.”  
  
“He doesn’t look so good, either.” That was the kid, the least annoying of them.  
  
“Tch. Screw this asshole. Get moving, Hakkai. I want to get as far as possible as I can from the Merciful Hag.”  
  
“You shouldn’t talk about the Goddess that way, Sanzo,” Cho Hakkai murmured, sounding cheerful. There was a rumble from the vehicle’s engine, and a puff of dirt as it peeled out and headed on up the mountain.  
  
“Thank you,” Zakuro said to nobody, and laid himself down to suck dirt once more, and to live to fight the Sanzo party some other time that was thankfully not right that moment.  
  
  
END.  
  
 _Thanks for reading! All comments, concrit loved!_  
  



End file.
